There's no way you're going on an iffy mission to call for reinforcements with two guys you just met when your family is out there going through who knows what.

"I can't," you say. "I've gotta get to my family at the mall."

"Told you, man," Lawrence says to Quinn smugly, as if they'd had a bet going. "Kid's a rookie anyway. Won't last long."

"Hey," you say, offended.

Quinn slips in your line of sight, blocking Lawrence from view. He rolls his dark eyes. "Pay him no mind. You take this." He hands you a folded map. "You change your mind, I circled our destination. Just follow the path of the dead undead." He winks at you after his brazen statement. He's so sure he and Lawrence will come out on top that you briefly wonder if you're making the right decision.

"I will," you say, tucking it safely into your back pocket.

"Head out after we do, we'll draw them away," he says. "And get out of here fast."

"Okay," you agree.

Quinn gives you a grin, then turns to disappear through a door.

"Hey, kid," Lawrence says, making you glare at him. "Good luck." Before you reply, he follows Quinn through the doorway.

Fighting back rising anxiety, you stand in front of the door you came through. You see them out there. The undead, shuffling this way and that aimlessly. They've forgotten you're in here, but the slightest thing in your close position could remind them. A bump against the door. The crash of nearby merchandise tumbling to the floor. A sneeze? Your stomach tumbles as you see one stagger into sight wearing police blue. Badge visible on his left breast, a line of garnet colored drool seeping from his lips, he limps by. Even the city's best have fallen prey, you realize.

A loud crack from behind the building startles you out of your daze. Gunshot. Quinn or Lawrence, you think. The undead snap their rotting heads toward the sound. Like a pack of rabid dogs, they charge away for the source of the sound.

They're so predictable, you think rolling your eyes. But they're still dangerous, no mater how easy they can be to temporarily fool. Because of that, now is the time to make a break for it.

The iron around the door squeaks when you open it and close it back. Right away, you can feel the difference in the atmosphere. Inside it was edgy, but safe for the most part. Outside the air is thick with danger, and sets you on high alert. On the bright side, you know exactly where you're headed, and thanks to Quinn or Lawrence, your path is clear. Down the road is the gas station. You won't get the Jeep down there, but if you're lucky, you can find a car with keys nearby. Preferably something fast. You'll be able to gas up and book it toward the mall.

Quick on your feet, you maneuver around a knocked over street lamp, a toppled baby stroller that you try not to think too much about, and an overturned mailbox. Envelopes holding information that the recipients will never receive are strewn along the sidewalk. No need to take care. No-one will care if you get them a little more dirty.

Around the corner of a car, you stoop dead in your tracks. Someone wasn't able to make the hunting party, it seems. An undead, crawling pathetically along on its stomach. A biker, from the look of the bloody helmet it wears and the bike nearby. The moving corpse is missing legs from knee down. Its arms are chewed, exposing patches of bone. It must smell you, because it's movements have grown more wild. You pull a face and avoid it. It's slow, and you don't have time to waste on it. You may only have seconds before the undead realize that they've been fooled and wander back out here.

You run. Blood on the pavement causes you to slip, but you regain footing and keep going. At last, panting and holding a stitch in your side, you get to the gas pumps. There's already a car there with a nozzle left in it. Someone must have been attacked mid-fill up. It's not the type of car you'd have chosen, a VW Beetle, but it's got the key in, and all ready for gassing. There doesn't seem to be another decent car for the taking.

You're spraying the gas in full blast, watching. An undead, wearing the gas station logo on its shirt, is making a hell of a racket with the store's door. It has forgotten how to pull open the door, and is smacking into it over and over. Either you're being too noisy, or it's still trying to get at the gunshot it heard. It's going to draw them back, you think. Sure enough, a group of undead are spilling from the alley. You pull the nozzle out and twist the lid, letting the outer lid shut.

For a moment, you consider taking out the gas station undead, just for its trouble, but there could be more than just one in there. Instead you jump in the car, just as a small group makes it to you. One of them smacks into the door, leaving a streak of dead blood across the window. The Bug is blocked in tight, but you ram forward and backward, bumping the other cars. It just doesn't work. The Bug is just too small to budge the other cars enough. The undead are all over, on either side, on top of the car.

You curse loud, knowing that you're done for.